Southbound Surrender (16 page)

***

Fresh from a lonely shower, I’m standing in the truck stop with a bag of ice on my hand. I snap a picture of my swollen hand and send it to Hudson with the caption ‘Bad-Ass Achieved. Punched a Cowboy.’ Less than a minute later he texts back ‘No way.’ I know he’s never going to believe the story about last night, so I skip the ridiculous texting conversation for now and survey our options for a late breakfast. Somehow, it’s well past ten, and despite the fact that we made it much farther than I anticipated the first day, the delivery to Miami awaits. I’m scanning the stock of bananas and apples when I feel a light blow on my ear that sends shivers through my body.

I smell the light, peachy aroma and suddenly, all I want to eat is a peach. A soft, succulent peach that melts in my mouth…

“How was your shower?” Piper asks coyly as I spin around.

“Cold. Really cold,” I say with raised eyebrows.

“Too bad, mine was hot. Real hot. Super steamy, if you know what I mean,” she says, leaning in closer to me before she laughs.

“Why are you torturing me?” I groan before turning back to the apples. By the way, she’s wearing tiny little jean shorts if you are wondering. They’re frayed on the bottom, with white strings dangling against her thighs. They’re tight and hug her in all the right places. She’s wearing a light pink and white striped sweater, too, that pulls tight across her chest and then loosens on the bottom. It’s a perfect pink, not too soft, not too hard, and the fabric is thin. There’s just a sheer layer between Piper’s supple skin and my hands. The stripes are small, maybe half an inch thick. And her hair has just the tiniest bit of moisture to it, making her blonde waves darker than usual. Every detail is so painstakingly seductive.

I thought I would let you in on the gorgeous sight that’s standing only a few feet from me. You can imagine how hard it is to keep my hands to myself.

“I was thinking we should check out Nashville,” she says. “I’m a Tennessee virgin, and from the sound of it, Nashville’s the place to be.”

Piper definitely needs to stop using the word virgin. It isn’t boding well for my hormones that are kicking in overdrive at the mere mention of any word associated with sex. I want to scream ‘LET’S HAVE SEX!’

Instead, I say, “Let’s have lunch.”

“Sounds great. Some lady in the bathroom recommended the Wildhorse Saloon downtown.”

“So you struck up a conversation with a stranger and asked her about recommendations for lunch?”

“Yes,” she replies flatly.

“You know I’ll do whatever you want me to.”

“Yes, I do,” she says with a smile that I want to kiss. “I figure we made up some time last night on the drive. At least, I can only assume anyway. Miami is about fourteen more hours and we have until tomorrow. So… ”

“So…” I repeat, waiting for her to finish. I’m hoping she adds something like ‘so, let’s have sex.’

“It’s not like I wasn’t thinking about the delivery. I just knew we had some time,” she says.

“For…” My voice trails off, begging to be answered with
sex.
At this point, I can’t help myself. The cold shower didn’t help any and those shorts, my God, I think she should put on a burqa that drapes to the floor and covers every single inch of her delectable body. I don’t think I can go on being around her otherwise.

“Lunch.” She furrows down her eyebrows. “What is with you?”

“Nothing much,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets. It’s not much really except that my hormones pulse every time she nears me.

“Cash Rowland, I thought you couldn’t lie?” she asks, leading the way out of the truck stop.

I follow her like a puppy dog. “I can’t.”

“So, what is with you?” she asks behind her shoulder.

I have to stop following this girl. It is torture walking behind her.

“I’m preoccupied,” I say as I jog to get ahead of her. I beat her to the door of the truck stop and open it for her. She stops in the threshold, just inches from me. I want to steal a kiss, and I’m about to even though I absolutely despise public displays of affection.

“With what?” She interrupts my plans with an incredulous look.

“With you,” I say, staring at her piercing green eyes that I want to lose myself in.

She folds her arms across her chest and waits.

“With sex,” I finally admit with a sheepish look. I realize brutal honesty in this situation isn’t a turn on. I’m sure you’re screaming at me right now, thinking I’m a fool for telling her the truth. I’m waiting for her to badger me with the inevitable. ‘You’re moving too fast. All you want me for is sex. God, you’re a pervert. I’m not your slut.’

But instead, she says, “Good.”

Then she ducks underneath my arm and into the bright Tennessee sun.

***

“Welcome to the Wildhorse Saloon, home of Nashville’s number one dining and entertainment destination. We serve over three thousand gallons of barbeque sauce and over two million of our famous fried pickles each year,” the bartender says as he slides napkins stamped with horses in front of us. We are in a three-story, gargantuan restaurant chocked full of southern pride and joy. “What would you like to drink?”

“Dr. Pepper,” I say.

“Miller,” Piper says. She catches me eyeing her and adds, “What? I’m on vacation.”

“I like a girl who can throw back a Miller at lunch.”

The bartender shakes his head. “No Miller, sorry.”

“No Miller?” I ask in disbelief.

“Sorry, Dorothy. We’re not in Wisconsin anymore,” Piper says to me before turning to the bartender. “What do you have for local brews on tap?”

“How about Mayday’s Angry Red Head?”

“Sounds good,” Piper says. “I’ve always had a thing for mad gingers.”

“That’s totally bizarre, and so is quoting
Wizard of Oz.
I feel like I can definitely tick off way more than a handful of things that I know about you now. I easily have both hands and both feet filled with pleasurable oddities of Piper Sullivan.”

“Good,” she says. “Now I have the rest of your body to fill.”

“Come on, now. I don’t think I can take this any longer. I’m going to pick you up, throw you over my shoulder, and carry you to the bathroom if you keep this up. I think I need a drink before I can start on all this flirting stuff again,” I say. “I wish I didn’t have to operate a thirty-ton machine after lunch.”

“Good, that means more for me,” Piper says with wide eyes as she rubs her hands together. She spins a three-sixty in her stool before she starts laughing. She points to the picture of a stampede of cattle running through downtown Nashville past the front doors of the Wildhorse Saloon.

“Is that really cattle in the middle of the street?” she asks the bartender as he appears with our drinks.

“Yeah, the bar opened in 1994. Reba McEntire herded the cattle down Second Avenue to celebrate the grand opening,” he replies as he nods toward the picture.

“That’s some grand opening,” I say. “Looks like any of the streets just outside of Appleton, except the cows escaped and everyone is frantically trying to get them back in the fence.”

“What are you two doing here in our neck of the woods?” The bartender asks.

We answer at the same time:

“Finding love.”

“Delivering a load.”

You can guess which answer is mine.

The bartender smiles before setting the drinks down. “Well, either way, I guess Wildhorse is a good place to be. You having lunch here?”

“Definitely,” Piper says. “I’m starving.”

“After lunch, you should stay for some entertainment,” he says.

“I don’t know if we have time –” I start to say, but Piper cuts me off.

“What entertainment is that?” she asks.

The bartender points to the far end of the huge first level that includes a mechanical bull, full stage, and enormous dance floor. “The mechanical bull is a great place to start. We’ll have live music and a quick mini lesson just after noon for the lunch crowd. I think Damion just got in.”

“Yee-haw! Count me in,” Piper yells and slaps the edge of the bar. “I wish I had my cowboy hat. You in, Cash?”

“We actually have hats for sale, ma’am.” The bartender points to the opposite side of the bar that houses a row of cowboy hats.

“I don’t know –” I start again, but she doesn’t let me finish.

“We’re in. Johnny Cash is in the building, ladies and gentlemen.” She grabs my knee and rubs her hand against my thigh.

How do I say no to that?

***

I’m going to spare you all the laborious details of Piper on the mechanical bull. Yes, she was incredibly hot with the cowboy hat she insisted on buying at the bartender’s suggestion. Yes, she loved every second of the ride and held on much longer than I anticipated. And yes, I was incredibly turned on as the bull bucked her around, and she clenched her thighs tight against the saddle.

“Did you get a picture of that?” She calls as she tips her hat at me and curtsies.

“Hell, yes I did!” I call back. “You looked great!”

She jogs to where I’m standing and pulls the hat off of her head and sets it on top of mine. “Yee-haw, Cash Rowland! You’re up.”

“I don’t think so. I can’t possibly show you up. It is way too chauvinistic,” I say, wrapping my arms around her waist. “We’ll leave you as the star of the show.”

“Yeah, right,” she says as she hits my chest and then pulls away. “You’re getting on that thing. I’m not leaving until you do.”

“It’s not –”

“Live a little!” she interrupts and flicks the tip of the cowboy hat. She turns to the operator and says, “You’ve got another rider, sir. Mr. Johnny Cash.”

She gives me a little push, and I saunter over to the bull. This whole trip to Miami is including more firsts than I bargained for.

My bull-riding adventure went something like this, as documented in Piper’s portfolio of pictures: Me wearing a cowboy hat smiling before the ride started. Then me with one hand in the air, my face pinched in concentration. Then me flying off the bull. Then a selfie of Piper laughing. The last one is of me with my head down next to a smiling Piper wearing the cowboy hat with a raised index finger: number one.

Now these are the types of pictures Big Dave has been asking for.

Just as we finish our time with the mechanical bull, a voice booms from the stage. “For all the cowboys and cowgirls out there, the World Famous Wildhorse Saloon would like to welcome the master of two-step and the heart of Nashville, the one and only DAMION to the dance floor.”

A blast of guitar echoes from the stage, and the band breaks out into one of Luke Bryan’s latest hits. Yeah, I listen to country. I live in Wisconsin.

I feel a tug on my hand as Piper is already making her way onto the dance floor, “Come on. We didn’t come this far just to stop now.”

I shoot her a look of contempt, knowing that whatever I say or do, it’s not going to matter. I’m going to be on the dance floor one way or another. I decide I might as well get it over with now so we can get back on the road.

Piper leads us out onto the dance floor with a handful of random people that look like they’re out on a business lunch. A middle-aged guy in a tie gives me a shrug that I dutifully return as a ripped guy in skin-tight jeans and plaid shirt comes gyrating onto the dance floor. He’s big, like Hudson big, and boasts a white smile that accentuates how ridiculously tan his skin is. He’s spent ten too many sessions in the tanning bed.

The one and only, Damion.

He completes the outfit with a studded belt, cowboy boots and cowboy hat. He’s the real McCoy, and I can’t help notice how Piper stares an extra second longer than I would like. You notice this kind of stuff when you’re friends with a guy like Hudson except I usually don’t care about the girls looking at him. This time, it’s different. I don’t want Piper staring at anyone else, and I sure the hell don’t want the one and only Damion to get any closer to Piper. I squeeze her hand a little tighter before pulling her close to me.

I’m a guy, not some possessive jerk. Get over it.

“Alright, cowboys and cowgirls,” Damion yells over the music. “I’m here to teach you two-step today. All you need to do is follow my lead, shake those hot bodies of yours, and have some good ol’ country fun!”

Piper pumps her fist in the air and lets out a big whoop. She starts moving her hips back and forth with my arms still wrapped around her. It drives me wild as I feel her hips sway against my body. Damion is just a few feet in front of us. He pumps both arms up in the air, gives two claps and then starts moving to the music. He’s deliberate in his moves, hitting his cowboy boot hard to the ground with each beat.

Piper easily follows his moves while I stand still on the dance floor. I’m hesitant, watching the rest of the crowd stumble along with him. It’s not that I don’t like dancing; it’s just that I usually do some of my best dancing when I have a few more drinks in me. Plus, I’m more than a little preoccupied with taking Piper out back.

“Come on, Cash. Loosen up a little,” she calls to me.

I exhale and say to hell with it and get my groove on. I follow Damion’s lead and fall into the easy rhythm of the beat, stamping my feet and rocking my hips.

I know what you’re probably thinking right now. I’m a horrible dancer with two left feet and no sense of rhythm. You’re picturing a clumsy truck driver fumbling on the dance floor next to the breezy Piper. Guess what? You’re wrong.

I, Cash Rowland, have some mad skills on the dance floor.

“Yee-haw!” Piper yells as she claps alongside of me. We’re both following Damion’s two-step with ease, smiling and laughing as we mimic his steps.

He nods his head and waves his arms, “Alright, we’re going to add some more moves into the step now.” He adds another tip of the boot and spins as the guitar strums along. “Everyone follow along now. You got this.”

Piper and I follow along, adding the tip and spin. She yells to me over the music, “You’ve got some sweet moves, Cash! You surprised me!”

“Good, I hope you like surprises. I have plenty more where that came from,” I yell to her before I smile. I grab her hand and slide her closer to me, our bodies moving with each other now. She tips her cowboy hat at me and flashes me a huge smile.